


bright days & rough nights

by transpeterparker (partlycharlie)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: :), Band-Aids, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Minor Injuries, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Phandom Reverse Bang, Phandom Reverse Bang 2018, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, because let's be real here, listen m8 it's a ride, oh fuck i almost forgot?, sensory issues, wahoo, yeah there's no tag for that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-05-07 22:31:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14680812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/partlycharlie/pseuds/transpeterparker
Summary: dan howell: genius, billionaire,playboy,philanthropist.phil lester: captain america - a man born out of his time.an interesting concept, no?





	1. nightmares in the nighttime

**Author's Note:**

> hello friends!!!  
> (that summary is really weird i'm sorry lmfao)  
> this is my second fic for the [phandom reverse bang 2018](http://phandomreversebang.tumblr.com)!  
> my artist was [andrea](http://trashofdoom.tumblr.com) \- an absolutely AMAZING person, please check her out - and [anna](http://sparkle129.tumblr.com) \- loml, amazing at edits under pressure <3
> 
> disclaimer: none of this is real! phil is not blond and so definitely is not steve rogers, and i'd like to think i'd know if dan is tony stark tbh (also: the avengers uhhhh aren't real!) i don't own any of this, bla bla bla, no money, etc etc.
> 
> swell! i hope you guys enjoy this <3
> 
> [check out the art here!!!!](http://trashofdoom.tumblr.com/post/178893534379/after-many-many-months-im-finally-posting-my)

_It was cold._

_He could feel the breeze against his body; his hands shook with the biting chill, but he could feel droplets of sweat beading against the back of his neck._

_It was a weird dichotomy, and one he was certain he didn't like._

_"You're going to die," said a voice behind him, and he could've sworn it sounded like Yinsen, but -_

_He turned around, and nobody was there._

_His forehead creased in frustration._

_"Fucking hallucinations," he muttered to himself, as he turned back to the pile of junk in front of him._

_"You're nothing but a disappointment," the voice informed him._

_"Thanks?" he said, rolling his eyes._

_The pile of scrap metal suddenly changed into a man - tall and light-skinned, with a dirty washcloth over his face like a mask and a pitcher of water in his hand._

_"Ready?" His cheeks shifted like he was grinning under the cloth, and for just a moment he looked just like Uncle Obie -_

_"Ready?"_

_\- but then it was Howard -_

_"Ready?"_

_\- but no, that hair, that's Aunt Peggy -_

_"Ready?"_

_\- wait, wait, that's - that's_ Phil _-_

_"Ready?"_

\---

He sat up, shaking.

“Good morning, Dan Howell. The time is currently 3:42 in the morning. The date is March 19, 20XX. It is a clear night in New York, New York…” JARVIS’s calm tone had been deliberately mixed with a soothing undertone of “ _two, three, four - hold - one, two, three, four - breathe - one, two, three-_ ”, allowing Dan the chance to slow his breathing, hand pressed tightly to the arc reactor (just gotta make sure it’s there, you know? Totally reasonable.) without looking like an idiot (at least too much of an idiot, because everyone knows a tiny bit of idiocy post-torture-nightmare is to be expected). Damn, he had programmed his A.I. well.

“…light showers in the morning, though by late afternoon-”

“JARVIS, lights to 40,” and Dan watched with cautious eyes as dim light started to flood his (admittedly spacious) bedroom. He leaned back into the mountain of pillows stuffed at the head of the bed (a man’s gotta have a little bit of luxury). Dan could almost physically feel (well, maybe not literally, but it’s the thought that counts) his bones settle with the disappearance of those nasty tricks the darkness played on his eyes (maybe he should get a night-light? “ _Jarvis, make a night-light note._ ” “ _Noted, sir._ ”), but still something felt -

“Sir, I have noted that the temperature of your floor is currently approximately 67 degrees Fahrenheit, as it was adjusted during your sleep. Would you like me to raise the temperature?” The consistent hum of the servers behind the walls of his room quieted, if only for what felt like a second, waiting for his answer.

Dan rubbed a calloused hand down the side of his face. “Yeah, uhm - 74. Thanks, J.”

“Of course, sir.” The A.I.’s clear voice calmed him more than he would’ve guessed.

(To be fair, though, if someone had told Dan of five years ago that he’d create a robot-A.I.-thing that could comfort him after his nightmares, past-Dan would’ve splashed a glass of whiskey in their face and told them to fuck off.)

Dan smiled gratefully at the camera in the corner of his room, knowing JARVIS would be able to see it. He shrugged off the imaginary weight on his shoulders ( _hands, pushing him down - down - down_ ), used a lingering hand to rub the sleepiness out of his eyes, stretched his arms out wide and yawned heavily (yikes, did he just yawn?). Tired feet were slipped out of the comforting warmth, and _damn_ Dan (haha, damn Daniel) wished he could be the type of person to get right back to bed immediately after waking up.

Dan’s pajama pants (black, of course, because why not?) hung precariously off his bony hips as he shuffled through the hallway, but he paid them no mind (well, almost no mind - because, _damn_ these pants are loose as shit).

Past the office, the bathroom, and -

Dan couldn't help but poke his head through Peter's door. Inside, the light still glowing softly, the teenager was passed out, lying spread-eagle with his mouth wide open.

He was drooling.

God, Dan fucking loved him.

He walked into the room, barefoot feet padding silently across Peter's carpeted floor. He weaved in and out of piles of Honors Trig homework (ew), Forensics labs (double ew), and study guides for what looked vaguely like AP Art History (more Steve's area than his).

Finally, Dan reached Peter's bed (no, he did not let out a muffled - MANLY! - squeal when he stepped on the Legos Peter used for side projects). He smiled fondly at the sleeping boy, suppressing the smallest of shudders at the thin line of drool stretching from his face to the pillow.

Dan could remember vividly the day Peter and May (who has her own floor, because Dan Howell is not a cheapskate) moved in.

\---

"Are you sure this is okay, Mr. Howell?"

Dan sighed. "Peter, how many times am I going to tell you to call me Dan before you actually start doing it?"

Peter smiled sheepishly, shifting the box in his hands. "At least five more times, Mr. Howell."

Dan snorted out a laugh, muffled by the ding of the elevator as they stopped on the Parkers' floor.

Inside, May was pacing around, placing objects from a box on the floor in random spots around the room. As far as Dan could tell, she didn't really have a rhythm, but he supposed that was just the way she worked.

May looked up at the ding, face brightening at the sight of them. "Hello, boys!" she exclaimed, her smile growing wide.

Dan would forever deny the blood that rushed to his face at being called one of the "boys". Imaginary blushing aside, he waved with two fingers and watched quietly as Peter set down his box on the kitchen table. He wiped a hand across his forehead.

"Is the AC on, Mr. Howell?"

"Oh - oh, no, I just like seeing you suffer." Dan allowed his face to relax into a smile. "No, it's on, you're just a sweaty teenager."

Peter's mouth twisted into a wry smile, and Dan couldn't help but grin back. "Yeah, okay," he said, and walked out of sight with a pile of boxes juggled in his hands.

Dan stifled a yawn behind his hand as he watched Peter leave. God, it'd been a long - 56 hours? Something like that, probably.

"Hey, Mr. Howell?"

Oh boy.

"Dan."

He could hear the reluctance in May's voice. "… Dan."

He finally glanced up then, focusing his attention away from the pack of kitchen knives he had been fiddling with (probably not the best idea, in retrospect).

"Yeah? What's up?"

May rubbed a hand across the back of her neck. "It's just -" she sighed.

Hmm.

Maybe sighing was a common theme amongst people who interacted with Peter on a frequent basis.

Probably.

"So - you know I work a lot -"

"Yes, I know you don't have to work nearly as much as you do."

May shot him a glare.

"So, you _know_ I work a lot, and. Well - the hospital - don't tell Peter yet, I haven't mentioned it to him - promoted me to manager of the ward I work in."

Dan smiled warmly. "Congrats! That's great."

"Thanks, yeah," she replied with a tired grin. "It's just - a higher position means even more hours. And I'm not complaining! But -"

"Peter," Dan said, nodding in agreement.

"Exactly. And obviously I know he can sort of take care of himself, considering who he is and all, but. I don't know. He forgets to eat, and he goes to bed too late, and - a whole bunch of things, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," he said.

All too well, maybe, remembering how he was as a child.

He sets down the steak knife he was twirling in his hands - seriously, Dan, what the fuck? - and turns to May. "So what do you think we should do about it?"

May bit her lip in thought, crossing into the kitchen to grab a glass.

"How would you feel about him moving to your floor instead of mine?"

He didn't even have to think about it. "I don't see why not."

Just then, Peter passed through the doorway, hands in his pockets.

"What's with the long faces?" he asked, a casual smile on his face.

When Dan and May's expressions didn't change, his face dropped.

"Hoo boy. Listen, Dan -" he pointed at May with suspicion, "- whatever she said I did?" He faltered. "Actually, she's probably right, but it wasn't my fault."

Dan smiled. This kid was a riot. "We weren't talking about anything you did, actually."

"Oh! Oh. RIght. Obviously, because. I didn't do anything. Haha."

He _actually_ said _Haha_ , instead of laughing.

What a nerd.

May clapped suddenly, startling Dan and Peter, who were standing at each other with equally narrowed eyes.

"So!" she exclaimed, smiling gently at Peter. "I was thinking about our… living situation."

"… okay?"

Dan interjected, figuring it was best to get everything out as soon as possible. "May thinks you should move in with me."

"Oh." His forehead creased. "Why?"

Dan relaxed mildly - he didn't sound angry, just confused.

He and May opened their mouths at the same time, but May started speaking first. "You don't know how to take care of yourself, sweetheart."

Peter started to protest, but Dan cut him off with a snort.

"Are you seriously going to argue? Peter, when was the last time you ate?"

Peter paused. "Um. Breakfast?"

Dan raised an eyebrow and Peters' shoulders slumped.

“… yesterday.”

May threw her hands in the air. "See?"

"Okay, okay. So maybe I'm not the best at self-care. So what?"

"So. We were thinking that maybe you could move in on Dan's floor, so that he can watch over you a bit more than I can."

Peter's eyebrows shot up. "Oh. OH."

Dan's eyes darted around the room. "We don't have to, obviously. I mean, it's totally up -"

"No!" Peter shook his head quickly, as if to shake away cobwebs. "No, that sounds great! Yeah. Yeah, totally."

Dan nodded. "Okay."

\---

… and that was it. Peter had moved up to his floor, and ended up eating at least two meals every day since then.

Dan counted that as a success, to be honest (or “tbh”, as Peter liked to say and then pretend he didn't).

He leaned down, smoothed a hand down Peter's hair, and pressed a kiss to his temple.

“Sweet dreams, Pete. J - lights out.”

The lights dimmed slowly until Dan almost couldn't see anything.

He started to walk back - wait.

He couldn't see anything.

(Wow. Dan? A dumbass? More likely than you think.)

“J, flashlight?”

A concentrated ball of light appeared in the air above him, illuminating the floor of the room.

Dan walked out (thankfully avoiding any and all Legos this time), glanced back for just one second, and closed the door behind him as softly as he could. The quiet click of JARVIS starting the locking mechanism made him smile as he walked away.

He could feel the hum of the walls as he walked through the hallway, his fingers tapping along the wall until it curved into the kitchen. Swiping his hair off of his forehead (shit, he really needed a haircut), Dan grabbed a glass from the cabinet and fill it with tap water (because - fuck his health? Whatever.)

Everything was so _empty_.

Fuck.

He didn’t even have to concentrate to hear the consistent sounds that echoed throughout the room - the suddenly loud hum of JARVIS’ servers, the ticking of the clock in Peter’s room, the rush of water through someone’s bathroom pipes, the distant sounds of music from scientists, still awake (like he would have been, five years ago).

It smelled like static. It was too loud.

Fuck.

He could feel tiny phantom ants crawling all over - and he swore he knew that there weren’t actually any ants on his skin, but that definitely didn’t stop him from rubbing his skin so fiercely he could sense the skin starting to turn red.

It was too much.

Fuck.

Dan grabbed the headphones sitting on the kitchen counter and placed them on his ears, sighing in relief at the blissful silence. He sat down at the island, slumping over to place his forehead on the wonderfully cool marble.

Jesus Christ, he hated sensory attacks.

“J, shut everything up.” Not waiting for a response he knew he wouldn’t be able to hear, Dan took off the headphones, smiling when all he heard was silence.

“Okay, JARVIS - servers on.”

There was the hum - a hell of a lot more calming now that he wasn’t freaking out.

“Hoo boy.”

He stood up straight and stretched, feeling the joints in his back (do backs have joints? Are those his muscles? Listen, Dan never took an anatomy course in college.) crack as he leaned back.

The google search results for “chiropractor near me” popped up on a holographic screen in front of him.

“Haha,” he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes, “very funny, JARVIS. Real sense of humor you got there.”

“Just doing my job to the best of my capabilities, Sir.”

He snorted and walked out of the kitchen, water glass still clutched tightly in both hands.

The elevator opened automatically at the sound of shuffling feet, metal doors sliding wide enough to fit a supersoldier almost silently. Cold metal greeted him as he stepped in.

“Communal.”

The elevator started moving, gliding down without a sound, and Dan let his eyes slip closed as he contemplated the relevance of his existence.

(You think he’s joking?

Ha.)

The elevator stopped moving with a tiny jolt, but Dan didn’t bother opening his eyes with the movement of the doors.

“Rough night?”


	2. boo-boos and band-aids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Rough night?"
> 
>  
> 
> Dan jumped a foot (well, maybe not a foot, but it’s the thought that counts) in the air, his elbow banging against the elevator wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey friends! good thing i never promised yall a regular updating schedule bc that is Not happening lmaooo
> 
> thanks again to anna for the last minute edits (even when google docs decided to be a little shit)! <3
> 
> uhhhh warning for . lol minor injuries, references to some weird alcoholism thing, awkward bois
> 
> enjoy!

“Rough night?”

Dan jumped a foot (well, maybe not a foot, but it’s the thought that counts) in the air, his elbow banging against the elevator wall.

“MOTHERFUCKER!” he whisper-yelled, and clutched his elbow to his chest.

“Shit - I mean - oh, whatever, are you okay?” Phil pushed himself up from the couch he was sitting on, rushing towards Dan.

“Woah… a curse. From Captain Language Lester himself? I feel honored, to be perfectly honest,” he said, poking along the outer edge of his elbow to see where it hurt the most.

“Haha. You're _so_ funny.” Phil rolled his eyes at Dan’s antics and walked closer. “Seriously, though, are you okay?”

“Yeah -” he held his other hand up, snorting at himself, “- yeah, no, I’m fine. There’s probably gonna be a bruise tomorrow, but. That can’t really be helped unless you're, y’know Phil Mister Superhealing Lester.”

Phil laughed softly, his hand hovering over Dan’s elbow. “Can I -”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

They’d done this before - whenever Dan hurt himself (be it a burn on his hand or a stubbed toe), Phil usually wanted to check the injury. Dan used to find it weird, back when he and Phil were still getting used to each other, but at this point he had almost come to expect it.

Was still nice that Phil asked every time, though.

Phil grabbed his elbow and examined it, extending Dan’s arm to bring it into the light. Dan laughed, grinning at Phil’s antics. “All clear, Doc?”

Phil frowned, mock-solemn. “Well… I’m terribly sorry about the bad news, but it looks like this -” he squinted at the tiny cut on Dan’s arm, “this, um, major laceration, may prove to be fatal.”

Dan snorted before he could hold it back. “‘Major laceration’? C’mon Phil, you gotta do better than that at least.”

“Shut up. Major laceration, minor abrasion, whatever.” Phil waved his free hand in the air before his face dropped into a serious expression.

(Seriously, if that whole super serum thing hadn't worked out for him, Phil totally could've been an actor. He had the whole Mr. Rogers innocence front worked out, anyway.)

“Anyway,” he said, obviously trying to steer the conversation back to Dan's elbow.

“Right! Um.” Dan quickly schooled his face into something he hoped looked distressed. “Oh no! Whatever can we do, Doctor?”

Phil led him out of the elevator, gentle hand still stationary on his elbow. “We might have to operate,” he said with a heavy sigh.

Dan stopped their synchronized steps (when did that happen?) as he felt his face scrunch up. “Really, Phil? Surgery on a cut? You couldn’t at least _try_ to make it realistic?”

“That’s Dr. Phil to you, young sir -”

Dan laughed suddenly at the ridiculous wink Phil sent his way. “Yeah, okay.”

“- and for that matter, yes! Band-aid surgery is a very important operation, and it would do you well to remember that.” Phil leveled a serious look in Dan’s direction. “Alright, well - come with me.”

Dan gave an incredulous look towards Phil's hand, index finger stretching out to him as if trying to beckon him closer, but eventually just decided to listen.

He couldn’t have gotten more than a couple of steps, though, before he walked into the living room and stopped straight (ha) in his tracks.

Holy _shit_.

What the fuck happened to the living room?

Christ, he could swear the place hadn’t looked like this since before he went sober. Vodka bottles littering the floor (and the couch, and the table), the TV still blaring Fox News (what?), bloodstains visible on the corner of the couch.

Dan scrubbed a hand down the side of his face.

This wasn’t Phil.

Who had done this?

“Dan?” The sound of Phil’s concerned voice snapped Dan out of his stunned reverie. “You okay?”

“Sorry!” he shouted back, not glancing away from the sight in front of him. “Got distracted by the TV - be right there!”

He spared one more (slightly disgusted, but come on - who could blame him?) glance, then started to walk towards where he thought he heard Phil’s voice come from. Tiny footprints lit up on the ground, perfectly placed for him to use as directions.

“Thanks, JARVIS,” he whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

“Hey, J?”

Possibly understanding Dan’s desire not to have Phil hear his ongoing conversation, JARVIS chose to flash the nearest wall blue as a sign of his attention.

Dan smiled briefly before continuing. “Order the standard replacements for the living room - couch, table, pillows numbers one and four - and call in crew 25-comma-6-6-3 for clean up.”

The words _Of course, Sir_ flashed on the wall to his right, so close he could touch them if he wanted to, and he couldn’t help but smile again. “Thanks Jay-Jay,” he whispered to the air, and hurried into the bathroom.

\---

“Ow ow ow _ow_!”

“You are _such_ a baby,” Phil muttered, smiling fondly at Dan while he dabbed Neosporin on Dan's elbow.

“Listen. Usually I would just ignore this shit, it would go away and - and! It doesn’t hurt nearly as much.”

Phil’s forehead creased, and Dan resisted the urge to smooth out the wrinkles with a finger.

Or his mouth.

Whatever.

“Okay, number one, you do realize you split your elbow pretty much wide open, right?”

Dan grumbled unintelligibly.

“And two, Neosporin is God’s gift - straight from heaven! Don’t let me hear you dissing it again.” Phil waggled a stern finger in Dan’s direction.

Dan fought valiantly to stifle his laughter (not really), but a few chuckles escaped.

(Chuckles, swear to God! Not this “giggling” shit people try to say he does!)

“Aren’t you an atheist?”

“That,” Phil replied, his eyes wide, “is… not the issue here.”

Dan “mm-hmm”ed as loud and sarcastically as he could. Phil huffed out a laugh in response but didn’t bother to answer otherwise.

Phil stretched the bandaid over Dan’s elbow and hummed, satisfied. “There we go!” He bent over quickly and pressed a light kiss to the space where Dan's cut had been.

Everything stopped, and Dan's mind began to spin with possibilities as he stared, almost shell-shocked, at Phil's quickly widening eyes.

What the hell did _that_ mean? Why did Phil kiss him? Did he mean to aim for Dan's mouth, but missed? No, that made no sense, why would he do that? Maybe he meant to examine it closer and then just bumped his lips against it?

Wait, he was talking. Shit.

“… SO sorry, oh my god, I swear I didn't mean to!”

Dan blinked a few times, then waved his hand through the air to cut off whatever Phil had been about to say. Another apology, probably, but that wasn't really important. “No, it's- it's okay. Um. It's fine, but. Why?”

“Oh!” Phil said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “My ma always used to do it when she patched me up, and then Buck did it too once we moved in together, so. I guess I must've just gotten in the habit after having it done to me for so long? I don't really remember ever actually doing that to someone, but I figure maybe I have and I just didn't notice.”

Dan sighed in response, but a fond smile threatened to spread across his face. “It's fine, honestly. I really didn’t need any of this, you know.”

“Well, duh,” he responded, rolling his eyes, “I already know that. Just let me indulge, will you?”

 _Indulge in what?_ Dan wondered, but he didn’t say anything.

He did that a lot.


End file.
